“Humph! And let some everlastin' lawyer sue me out of my last cent for damages. All right, I'll stop it if you say so. There's plenty of room in the poorhouse, they tell me. How'd you like to give us this place and move to the poorhouse, Hannah?”
“But—but, O Kenelm, I can't think of your gettin' married! I can't think of it!”
“Don't think of it. I ain't thinkin' of it no more'n I can help. Why ain't you satisfied with things as they be? Everything's goin' on all right enough now, ain't it? You and me are livin' together same as we have for ever so long. You're here and I—well, I—”
He did not finish the sentence, but his sister read his thought. She knew perfectly well that her brother was finding a measure of enjoyment in the situation, so far as his dealings with her were concerned. He was more independent than he had been since she took him in charge. But she realized, too, her own impotence. She could not drive him too hard or he might be driven into marrying Imogene. And THAT Hannah was determined should be deferred as long as possible.
So she said no more concerning the “ride” and merely showed her feelings by moping in the corner and wiping her eyes with her handkerchief whenever he looked in her direction. After he had gone she spent the half-hour previous to Mr. Hammond's arrival in alternate fits of rage and despair.
“So Kenelm's been actin' unlikely, has he?” queried Caleb. “Well, if he was my brother he'd soon come to time quick, or be put to bed in a hospital. That's what would happen to HIM.”
Miss Parker looked as if the hospital picture was more appealing than dreadful.
“I wish he was your brother,” she said. “Or I wish I was independent and had a house of my own.”
“Huh! Gosh! So do I wish I had one. I've been wishin' it all the mornin'. If I had a home of my own I'd have what I wanted to eat—yes, and wear. And I'd have 'em when I wanted 'em, too.”
“Don't they give you good things to eat over at Mrs. Barnes'?”